


a faulty camera (in our minds)

by agentbartowski



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: All around badass ain't takin' no shit from no one Lydia lbr, Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Graduation, Language, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Mentions of severe past injuries, Open Ending, Sad rambling, Very very extremely light Sterek, magic!Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentbartowski/pseuds/agentbartowski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Stiles wants to be angry, he wants to throw his hands up and vigorously shout, "Hey, asshole! Remember me?!" </p>
<p>But he doesn't. </p>
<p>Instead he stares at the crumbled homework that's thrown across his desk. It was due almost three weeks ago. </p>
<p>He thinks Harris would be pissed, but also can't imagine that the guy actually expects him to turn it in. </p>
<p>No one expects much of him anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a faulty camera (in our minds)

**Author's Note:**

> Bah, so this is a long overdo 500 word prompt that someone had begged me for months ago. It's almost 2 AM, and I've been listening to Death Cab for Cutie for almost four hours. And then this happened. No beta. All mistakes are my own! Enjoy!

Scott doesn't talk to him much anymore. What were once long drawn out conversations about trivial everyday activities suddenly became one worded sighs and halfhearted smiles and eventually their already crumbled relationship fell to dust. Allison took up a lot of his time, nowadays. Thankfully. Stiles didn't like the idea of his best friend moping around about something he couldn't control. The brunette's curved smile mixed with Isaac's constant need to drag him out of his pit of despair is what did it. What ended the epic broship of Scott and Stiles- Stiles and Scott.

And Stiles wants to be angry, he wants to throw his hands up and vigorously shout, "Hey, asshole! Remember me?!" 

But he doesn't. 

Instead he stares at the crumbled homework that's thrown across his desk. It was due almost three weeks ago.

He thinks Harris would be pissed, but also can't imagine that the guy actually expects him to turn it in.

No one expects much of him anymore.

His father still stops at his bedroom door every morning his eyes lingering over the floor as he whispers, "Morning son," and then heads off to work without so much as another word.

It's another relationship that Stiles has yet to fix. 

With an exasperated sigh, he pushes himself away from his desk and glares at the room around him. It needs to be cleaned. Desperately. But no one will touch it. If he had the time, he would- but he doesn't. The bed is ten different kinds of unmade- he supposes it's from all the people who fall into it at random hours of the night. The Stilinski household had become a safe haven, a port for docking- and it seems that everyone in town was notified. He'd need four hands to count the number of times people had ended up under his comforter, crying into his pillow, and yelling stupid things at him while he sat there helplessly and just let them vent.

He still laughs about the one time that Allison ran in and immediately begin telling him about how she'll never understand why he's friends with Scott. Especially when he's so fucking clueless. And Stiles wanted to agree- because the kid, well, sometimes a good slap to the back of the head was called to order, but he didn't get the chance- not with Allison rattling on about terrifyingly descriptive details about personal things that he would never ever ever like to hear. But he sat through it anyway, because he owed it to her- right? The last few months had been hell- for everyone involved. And a little complaining about relationship drama was a good change from the regular shit he heard.

And when she fell asleep with tears drying on her cheeks his hand ghosted over the blanket and he reminded her in a whisper, "You'll be okay. Both of you."

And then went back to whatever he was doing before. 

His days go by pretty easily, and aside from the roundup of visitors, nothing really changes. He still goes unnoticed by Gladys, the librarian, as he sneaks through the stacks and his eyes clamber over the different spines of books that color each shelf. He makes mental notes on books that he wants to read, or steal- well, not steal- probably just borrow without actually renting it for an extended amount of time and then return it randomly- no questions asked. 

It was kind of a filthy habit that no one ever really picked up on- thankfully.

It’s a Tuesday, he thinks, when he finds himself stopping at the end of an isle- laughing over an old crumpled copy of _Bunnicula_ that someone had squished in the history section, when suddenly he sees her.  She’s sitting at the desk across the room a look of sheer concentration gracing her face.

He goes through the motions of the air leaving his lungs as he watches the strawberry blonde flip furiously through the pages of a ridiculously sized leather bound book. Curiosity tugs at him and it isn’t long until he’s sitting across the table from her waiting for her to pick up her head and notice him. 

It doesn’t come.

Typical Lydia Martin.

“You know, I’m tempted to ask you about what you’re getting yourself into, because that,” he motions towards the book, “looks like the book form of _Jumanji_ waiting to happen.”

She sighs, and flips to another page, her finger scanning the pages with interest. 

After a moment, Stiles takes the hint, and retreats, a sarcastic “Fine, I didn’t need you anyway,” leaving his lips as he steps away.

He feels like he’s slowly losing them all.

Like all he has left to communicate with them is memories of what once was instead of what is. 

Scott and Allison both get into Berkeley in April. Scott comes to his room and cries to him about it. Stiles wants to jump in and excite him with some news himself.

But he can’t.

Because his letter never comes.

So instead he rivals back with a “Dude, I never had a doubt in my mind.” And awkwardly stands and watches as Scott lingers at the doorway. Because, oh right, that’s what their friendship has come to these days. 

It’s awkward.

_He’s_ the awkward one now.

Whatever, he’ll just smile through it. He’s got this. 

In the days that pass Stiles mourns the loss of people who frequently used to visit him. He figures that the graduation jitters have taken everyone hostage. No one has time to spare even a second- except for Erica, who still finds the time to bitch about the lady who did her nails to him as she leans against his dresser.

Stiles laughs at her mimicking tone as she reenacts the scene that had happened at the salon and then dramatically falls back against his bed.

“He misses you, you know.” She says as she picks at the skin on her palm. “Would it kill ya to go say hi?” 

He wants to make a joke, but nothing comes. Instead he practically finds himself choking on guilt. Because, of course, that asshole misses him. For the past year Stiles has practically been doing backflips to ignore him. There’s just- where they left things is too painful to actually address.

He’d rather just pretend that it never happened.

“Derek’s better off without me,” Stiles sighs.

Erica doesn’t even look him in the eye when she exits.

The pack graduates tomorrow- with the beautiful Lydia Martin as their valedictorian. He’s ready- he can feel it. 

He watches his father wordlessly lay out his tux that morning and sneaks by him to walk the regular route to school- the one his mom used to take him on by the hand every morning. It’s glorious.

The halls of Beacon Hills High are empty. 

It’s cathartic, really.

There’s a giant banner that reads “ _YOU DID IT! YOU GRADUATED!_ ” And Stiles bites back a stupid grin because the tone of it sounds more like disbelief and less like encouragement. Leave it to BHH, he thinks- and the follows the sound of Coach Finnstock’s eerie humming. 

He finds himself standing in the middle of the locker room watching through the Coach’s office window as Coach Finnstock pulls different flyers off of his bulletin board. He hums to the tune of a song Stiles vaguely recognizes and then marks another big red ‘X’ on his “Countdown to Greenberg’s Final Exit” calendar and than laughs to himself.

Stiles is gonna miss that giant asshole.

Somewhat.

He exits before the coach catches onto his presence and heads directly toward the auditorium.

As soon as he enters he feels his entire word shrink. The room is a lot bigger than he remembers it being- but maybe that’s because of how empty it is. He walks down the aisle, past the rows upon rows of empty chairs and takes a seat directly up front.

Suddenly the weight of his life falls off his shoulders. 

Because this? This is everything Stiles has dreamed about.

Hell, from the first day of 9th grade he’d already had a plan on what he was going to do as soon as he stepped off that stage. He wanted to snap that diploma over his knee, give his entire class the finger, and then pack his bags and travel Europe or something.

But now that reality has set in, he finds that his dreams were actually pretty dumb.

He envisions the principal saying his last name and his dad standing up and giving a loud- and embarrassing- “that’s _MY_ son!”

He envisions the pack staying out until dawn and wrecking their nice clothes and watching the sun rise in Beacon Hills one last time before they're all technically adults. 

Time passes endlessly, and it isn’t long before a janitorial staff enters to do their last stage check, and Stiles finds himself rushing out.

It should be time to put on his cap and gown right about now.

Instead he finds himself standing outside of that goddamn loft for the first time- in, shit- how long has it been? 

In the past year he’s spent so much of his time trying to drift away from the bad memories that he didn’t realize what he was missing. Derek.

Stupid fucking Derek Hale.

Their relationship was- in a word- messy. No one really knew about it, well, except for Erica, but that’s just because she liked to pry.

He climbs the steps with ease, and walks right around the trip wire- just like he had practiced so many times before- so that the stupid warzone alarm doesn’t signal his presence. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

He has nothing prepared.

“Sorry I’ve been ignoring you- it’s just that- well, with everything that happened- I figured it’d be better for the both of us if I just…”

His thoughts are caught off by two voices arguing.

“-don’t understand, Derek! This could work. This could actually work. This could be what-”

Lydia?

“No,” Derek’s voice sounds and suddenly Stiles feels the need to retreat. This was a bad idea. Clearly they’re in the middle of something, they don’t need him to-

“It’s _Stiles_ , Derek.” And the way Lydia says it has him freezing completely. She sounds- she sounds wrecked.

Derek growls at the name. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’ve spent months battling the idea of this actually working of you actually-“ He sounds angry.

Suddenly Stiles closes his eyes and slides back against the farthest wall.

Something hurts. Something really hurts.

And it’s being here that triggered it.

He feel his hands start to shake, and he can’t- no, he refuses to have a panic attack. Not here. Not so Derek can be the good guy and come running to his rescue.

“Look, I’ve poured myself into this. I’ve checked each and every source dozens of times, Derek. And all signs point to go,” Lydia’s voice continues.

“He wouldn’t want you do this. He’d want you to let it go.”

Why are they talking about him like-

His hands are still shaking. 

Suddenly the pain in his chest becomes to much to bear, and he’s grabbing helplessly at his shirt- trying to undo the buttons- to do anything when suddenly it’s there. _The blood_.

There’s so much blood.

“And you know I don’t trust this shit. I told him so many goddamn times how much I hated him playing with magic. Those forces- they’re… you can’t control them.”

He cries out- fully expecting Derek and Lydia to come to his aid.

“Yes, you can,” Lydia argues. “You can control them- if you know how.”

He’s gasping wetly now- the blood practically flooding around him. He’s not- how are they not- what’s…

His memory becomes hazy.

“You’re just like him. Always so fucking optimistic.” Derek growls at her, “You know what happens when you mess with that shit? You die. Just like he did. You die. And what for? A stupid spell?”

“Don’t you dare say he died for nothing. Because you know what he did was to-“

“To protect his alpha.” Derek’s voice is so low that Stiles barely hears it over the pounding of his own heart.

“To protect the man he loves,” Lydia corrects. “He brought you back to life, but ripped his own heart out in the process- if he had just thought before he- before he-“

Stiles' scream drowns out the rest of her words as he looks down and finds his own heart in his hands. No. 

_No._

This isn’t- this isn’t happening. He’s… He chokes.

“No means no,” Derek’s says and it’s final.

Meanwhile Stiles blinks and he’s back where he started. Staring at the mess of overdue homework on his desk and wondering if Harris is going to hold it against him for the rest of his natural life.

He’s been existing on repeat. Living the same situations over and over again. And every time he comes close to remembering- it blanks out again. It’s like he’s a game with a glitch.

The glitch being that you can never win.

You can never gloriously reach those rolling credits. 

Instead you’re forced to play the same levels over and over again without ever actually accomplishing anything.

“What do you mean she’s not coming?” The voice echoes in the back of Stiles’ head. He furrows his brows in a confused manner before closing his eyes for only so a second and then opening them to find himself standing in the principal’s office. “She can’t just-“

“She asked for her diploma to be mailed to her.”

“She’s the goddamn…” He breathes angrily. “I swear to fucking-“ 

His old principal sighs and pulls together a stack of paper muttering something about pulling out the old Dr. Seuss speech and then rushing out of the room his minion following close behind. 

Stiles goes to follow but instead lingers again in the old hallways. 

Here he is again. 

Starting over.

It isn’t long before he becomes self aware and his memory refreshes on him one more time. 

But what’s going to happen when they all leave? When suddenly everything is different and he can’t keep up the façade that he’s just been antisocial for a few months?

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you…”

He follows the voice and finds himself standing in the back of the auditorium- except this time; it’s packed to the brim with people.

He spots Ms. McCall and his father first off, both sitting off to the side smiling broadly at the stage. “Unfortunately, our Valedictorian couldn’t be with us today, a family emergency, we’re afraid. But luckily, for you guys, we’ve got the perfect speech prepared.” 

He then trails off in a Beacon Hills’ version of _Oh, The Places You’ll Go_ \- but Stiles is too busy looking at all the red caps and gowns and suddenly feeling… done. 

He’s been stuck on loop for too long. He doesn’t need to be here. Not anymore. 

No one really needs him. 

He’s just a…

He’s just a…

His eyes catch on the framed picture sitting center stage. 

It’s him. 

He’s- he’s been commemorated? _By Beacon Hills High?_ The very same school that once called his dad and begged for him to check Stiles’ out early. 

He walks towards it, fully ignoring any other presence in the room.

Because this is real, this is happening.

This is his goodbye, isn’t it?

After this everyone will go off to college- go on with their lives, and inevitably do great things. And Stiles? He’ll just be a memory. A stupid drunken story shared at 3 AM and laughed about.

Sure they’ll think about him on birthdays or when they see a bony kid in a red hoodie- but this is the last time that anyone will fully recognize him as a part of something.

He’ll never get to wear his cap and gown. 

He’ll never get to update his facebook status from crappy Muse lyrics.

He’ll never get to clean his room or do his homework or hug his dad. 

He’ll never get to touch Derek again. 

The kid in the picture? He had it all.

And he took it all for granted.

What a fucking tool. 

He reaches out to touch the picture, but feels himself being pulled away.

No. He doesn’t dare close his eyes, worried that he’ll open them and find himself staring at the incomplete homework on his desk.

He wants to accept it, needs to accept it- he needs to move on.

But it feels like he’s being ripped from his own skin.

A voice sounds in the back of his head- but the words are so hushed that he can’t make out what they’re saying. He looks to Scott, who is blowing innocently at his tassel and barely listening to what’s going on around him. 

The feeling begins encompassing him again.

He can’t- 

“No!” His voice sounds helplessly as he’s pulled away- disappearing again- this time too fast to see Scott’s eyes dart up and towards the crowd with a pained expression on his face. 

It’s dark- and the voice is louder- and he feels like he’s being sucked into a vacuum. There’s- this is different. This is different than before. He can’t… He can’t breathe. A swirl of brightness suddenly wraps around him and Stiles can’t find the voice to scream as he’s pulled under and drowned in the light.

This time when he opens his eyes he’s not staring at overdue homework.

This time when he opens his eyes, he’s looking at a wide-eyed strawberry blonde and a very cheerful looking veterinarian as he coils against the cold feeling of the metal table below him. “It worked!” She cries, and Stiles’ cringes at the sound.

Suddenly she’s wrapping her arms around him and practically smothering him with her tiny body.

Deaton’s laugh sounds in the background, and Lydia pulls back to place her hands on either side of Stiles’ cheeks. “You’re a stupid fucking asshole, you know that right?”

There’s too much going on in his head for him to fully comprehend the situation.

Furrowing his brows helplessly he opens his mouth and for the first time in a year his voice actually sounds, “Wha’d I miss?” 


End file.
